Feelings, Emotions, and Other Ick
by MiniCinnamon99
Summary: A series, or collection if you like, of oneshots that I wrote in a ridiculously small amount of time, and am particularly proud of. They're about my three most favourite characters and involve all of the things in the title. No sex, no swears, just feels and heartache. Any questions? Well keep reading. P.S. The picture isn't mine.
1. Fathers

Well, each of these took me about ten to twenty minutes to write and I was shocked at how well they turned out. I was bored and so here they are.

I don't own anything in any of these except Jack's son in this first one.

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><p>"I think ye be missin' something o' yers Jackie."<p>

Jack looked up from his bookkeeping to see his father standing in the doorway of his open cabin.

"Really," he said more than asked, "That could be anythin'. Do I have t' guess, or are ye gonna show me?"

Teague grinned like a shark, no humor in sight, and pulled a stumbling awkward teenager from behind him.

Jack could only sigh.

"Of course," he muttered under his breath and rolled his eyes skyward, hoping for some strength from some deity he hardly believed in. Then he turned back to his father and his son.

"Well c'mon Junior, out with it," he flapped his hands in his own casual manner, "What did you pillage, plunder, drink, debauch, or blow up this time?"

"Why do you always assume I did something?" the slurring teenager protested loudly, doing a great imitation of being drunk, "Why can't it be his Highny over here that has a problem and is just blamin' it on me?"

Jack quirked a sly grin, "Because yer related to me, now out with it."

The boy sighed and dropped the drunk act, "Twasn't much really...

Whack!

The boy was cut off by Teague cuffing him upside the head hard enough to knock him to his knees.

"Twasn't much was it? You were stealin' out o' me own treasury!"

Jack sat stock still, frozen in fear as the scene took him back to some of the worst nights of his childhood. He could still picture how his Da' looked to him then at just nigh on six, and then again fourteen. Those were the only two incidents he remembered with crystal quality, but there were plenty of others floating around too.

And he saw his son sitting in the same place he had he felt molten rage flood his blood, and then it hardened to cold steel. He was pissed.

"...from family, boy, it just ain't..."

"Teague." His voice was quiet but firm enough to cut of the man's tirade.

His son sat frozen, watching him warily. He, at least had been on the recieving end of The Voice only once and Jack had caught him talking to Gibbs about how it sounded. Regardless, he knew at least thee boy had common sense.

"What!?" Teague bellowed at him.

The boy looked to his grandfather in shock, but he dared not say a word. Maybe he could get out of the line of fire if he stayed quiet.

Jack however, beat him to the punch.

"Go find Gibbs, Junior, he'll give ye a list o' extra chores ye got, and we'll talk later."

The boy nodded so hard Jack thought his head would fly right off and then he scurried to his feet and out of the room.

Jack really couldn't blame him and then Teague turned his icy glare on him and he wished he could escape too, if only to escape the memories.

"You just let the boy go!? I was perfectly 'appy to dole out his punishment, since yer too cowardly and you just let 'im go!?"

Jack only smirked and spoke dangerously, "You forget, I know all about your punishments."

Jack's soft tone startled Teague but he grinned obliviously.

"Ah, so you'll punish 'im later then. Good boy Jackie. You grew up good."

Jack flinched and then grinned like a shark, not unlike Teague's expression when he had entered. This one had a more dangerous glint to it.

"I did, didn't I?"

Teague laughed and went to leave when Jack's soft voice stopped him.

"Teague?"

The old man turned and was startled to see Jack so close to his face he felt his son's breath move his hair ornaments. Then he felt the pistol press into his sternum.

"If you so much as think of touchin' my boy again, I'll kill you," he stated softly and then grinned that shark grin again, "Savvy?"

Teague shied away and looked at his son in shock, before huffing and storming out of the cabin, and Jack slammed the door shut behind him with a feral growl of disgust.

With a few deep breaths he stalked back to his chair and threw himself into it.

"Come 'ere boy, I know fer a fact ye didn't go t' Gibbs like I asked."

"I-I'm sorry," a meek voice called out from his balcony.

"Ah, I'm not gonna hit ye boy, get over here."

The boy immediately scrambed inside the window and cautiously made his way over to his father.

When he was finaly close enough, Jack reached out and snagged the back of his shirt, so he could pull him into his lap.

"Da'!" the boy protested loudly, "I'm thirteen, I don't need to be on yer lap like some droolin' toddler!"

Jack chuckled, "Well I want ye here so here ye'll stay me boy. Now what put the bee in the old man's bonnet?"

"I...took somethings from his chest in the study and bartered 'em away cuz Lario and Herbert both got fired again."

Jack winced. Damn, he thought he'd found 'em both a good job this time. Those rugrats were gonna be the death of both him and his boy it seemed.

"How'd their Ma' take it?" Jack asked.

The boy shrugged, " 'bout as well as she takes anything else; with a hug and a smile. The she went out and stole a new dress t' try and get her whorin' job back."

Jack winced again at his language, but the boy noticed and scoffed.

"C'mon Da' that's what it is."

"Alright, fine. I'm out of ideas where their concerned boy-o. I might just have to offer 'em a place aboard the ship and see how well they do."

The boy laughed, "Yer probably the softest hearted pirate around. It must be old age."

Jack smiled widely ready to make a quip but it faded as some memories came to mind.

Like his beatings as a child for giving away gold and jewels he pocketed to smaller kids with bigger families.

Like how he set free a shipload of slaves and got a brand and a life of piracy for it.

Like how he opened his crew's quarters to a starving man and his stranded companions, and ended up governer of a godforsaken spit of land in the middle of nowhere.

Like how he had saved a woman from drowning only to end up eaten by a mythical sea creature.

He sighed. Oh how he wished it was only old age.

He smiled up at his boy sadly and shook his head.

"Yer a good boy."

His boy looked at him strangely but nodded.

"Yer a good Da' too."

Jack chuckled. If only.


	2. Homecoming

I don't own Jack, Elizabeth or Teague.

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><p>Standing across from each other in the rain was the saddest homecoming they'd had in a while.<p>

Normally, he'd bring his ship in on the sunniest days imaginable, and she'd rush to the docks to meet him, and they'd embrace and start telling each other all of the things that had happened to each of them while he'd been away.

Today, wasn't that day. Today wasn't normal. It wasn't even in their own private, warped realm of normal that included walking skeletons, and angry fish people, and vengeful eldritch creatures.

Today they stood no more than a few feet between them, and yet it felt like countries and leagues of wide open ocean. It felt like they were a hair's breadth apart, and at the same they were worlds away from one another.

As her eyes roved his figure she could see the time spent in the Spaniards' stockades as if it had been branded on him. She shuddered as she thought of his brand and then she almost convulsed as she thought of the matching one, new and pink, covered by her new wrist cuff.

But his time in the hands of the Spanish was so glaringly obvious she ached for him. And how hungry he must be. His clothes hung loosely on him, and yet he wore so many, the average person probably wouldn't notice.

She could see his crew's last betrayal in the lines of his face and in the set of his mouth, plain as day. She could see the heart break of losing his beloved Pearl again in the set of his shoulders, and she felt something similar for her sunken Empress.

He wasn't even wearing his usual kohl, and his hair was shorter than Jack Sparrow's hair was meant to be. He gave off the air that he was just too tired to care what he looked like.

Thankfully all of his beautiful trinkets were tied to the string on his compass. His compass was still a faithful companion on his belt and she found comfort in that. He could always find his way home.

As she looked him over again, she could see the blood spots on his ruined jacket, and the jagged glass behind his haunted eyes. With that look, she wondered how much of the blood was his. She wondered which answer she'd prefer.

Horrors done to your person were easier to get over than horrors done to others by your own hands. And she would know.

When she finished her mental journal of his changes, that she kept religiously (it was the only religion she had now it seemed) she idly wondered if he did the same. She wondered if her could see her brush with the EITC that she only escaped by the skin of her teeth. The 'P' on her wrist was not the only scar from that occasion.

She wondered if he could see her miscarriage in her shedding hair, or in her pale, sickly skin. She wondered if he could see how Will had left her for a vengeful witch and had told her he 'set her free' in the slump of her back.

If he could he made no mention, just as she hadn't. She imagined he had heard all about her misadventures just as she had his, and there was no need to tell the whole sordid tale over again, unless there became an opportune moment to do so. Now was not then. Of course not, because only then could be then and now was now, and...this was really not the time for senseless babble.

She was starting to fear her own stint on a deserted island not so long ago, had made her a bit addled. She wondered if he could see that too, in her eyes. Maybe they were a matching set now. Maybe they always had been.

He had always said 'peas in a pod, darling'.

But it was strange. Seeing each other so irrevocably changed and yet the same.

It was even stranger knowing they were coming home to each other for the first time.

Normally they meet as friends, or sometimes grudging acquaintances, or sometimes, as Teague joked, a squabbling married coulple. Sometimes they would meet together just to sit together and drink rum in silence, because 'drinking alone is just depressing Lizzie, no fun at all'.

But now they had come home...to each other. It was...awkward. Neither of them knew what to do or how to act. And it was...

"Oi!" Teague's bellow startled both of them and they jumped, " 're you two gonna bring it inside, or just stand there squaring off like a couple of drownin' rats fightin' o'er the last piece of hardtack?"

They glanced at each other and burst into laughter. Alright, maybe it was a normal day after all.


	3. Penance

I don't own Elizabeth or Teague.

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><p>Teague's presence loomed over her and she felt meek; small in all sense of the word.<p>

His piercing eyes made her feel as if she was made of transparent glass. So easy to see through he need barely look. And yet he stared intensely, as if she would disappear when he removed his gaze or even lessened it slightly. She very much wanted to and yet didn't at the same time. She couldn't stand his company for how familiar he looked and yet she couldn't bare to be alone.

His eyes, his hair, his posture, his clothes, his face...Her heart ached fiercely again for everything she'd come to know and everything she'd lost.

"So yer the slight thing that managed to kill Jack?"

She shuddered at his voice. It was like listening to milk and honey being spread over raw silk, with just enough spice to account for the husk.

Her heart desperately called out for its fellow bird and like always there was no reply.

And she couldn't bear to be alone so she shrugged.

Her voice was flat, steady, even as she simply stated, "I wasn't so slight then."

He seemed taken aback by her answer and smirked cruelly.

"Remorse ain't being kind to ye then I see."

Elizabeth sneered, "Maybe it would be kinder if there was remorse to be found."

Teague stared at her unrelenting, and she suddenly wished she had indeed tried to escape. Then she'd have given him a reason to shoot her and this would be over; her pain and his interrogation.

Suddenly he barked a laugh, harsh and sharp, and with no humour at all. She flinched. HE had laughed like that once, not so very long ago. She'd sooner die then have that dagger drawn against her again. And whether she was talking metaphorically, or physically she wasn't quite sure.

"If it ain't remorse...Captain Lizzie, then what would you call yer current state of..." he gestured at her agressively and she knew exactly what he was referring to.

She was unwashed, unfed, and unwatered,all of her own accord. She looked like a starving waif and yet she couldn't bring herself to care. At least when she ached from hunger it was easy to pretend she wasn't aching from something else, something not returned.

She only stared at him though, not once looking away because of shame or guilt. She had no remorse. She had done no wrong, in her own mind. She had no heart. She was a...well. She still believed she wasn't guilty.

Instead of admitting defeat she took a swig of rum and gave him a shark's grin.

"Penance."

He stared again and she stared back. Then he pulled out his pistol, quicker than she could blink.

"I should kill ye lass," he growled in his most intimidating voice. She shivered again, and whether it was from memory or starvation, she wasn't sure.

"You would be doing me a favour Captain," she said emotionlessly, and took a long pull of her bottle.

His hand kept steady as he quirked his head in a way that was so JACK she thought she'd splinter into a million pieces. But she didn't and he kept staring. She stared back.

Finally he growled again and put his pistol away.

"Be a waste o' me bullets," he said gruffly.

She nodded like that was the answer she was expecting and took another swig.

He grabbed his own rum off the desk roughly and barked at her.

"Well ye can go lass, I don't expect ye t' stay in me company any longer than strictly necessary."

She didn't flinch at his tone, and stared blankly ahead swirling what was left of her drink in the bottle with nothing more than her finger tips gripping the neck.

"I like your rum," she said with no emotion. It was fact. Fact was simple. No room for misunderstanding, nothing bad to come of good intentions. No hurt feelings and no ill will. Simple.

Teague looked at her in that unnerving way again, but this time his eyes sparkled with something other than malice. It was something she knew well, and yet felt relunctant to name.

Finally he nodded, "Aye lass, this is the good stuff."

So they stayed in his study that night, and all of the nights after. He stayed because he had nowhere better to be, and didn't want to dirty his bullets. She stayed because she had nowhere to go, and she enjoyed his rum. And if both of them were lying to themselves, well neither mentioned it or the origin of their soul crippling regret.

But neither of them ever took down the painting that hung beside his desk like some kind of mocking monument to their guilt, or an altar for their hearts. They both agreed silently, they deserved the pain of seeing his face. It was their penance after all.


	4. Promises

I don't own Jack or his famous heartbreaking streak.

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><p>...Steady...<p>

...Breathe...

...Hold...

_**Bang.**_

...Steady...

...Breathe...

...Hold...

_**Bang.**_

...Steady...

...Breathe...

...Hold...

_**Bang.**_

Each of the bottles shattered rythmically as she focused with deadly intent.

...Steady...

...Breathe...

...Hold...

_**Bang.**_

_"I love you, you know."_

_"I know luv."_

_"You don't have to say it back."_

_"I know."_

_"Bastard."_

_A golden smile..."My parents were married luv."_

...Steady...

...Breathe...

...Hold...

_**Bang.**_

The pull of the gun wasn't enough to keep her mind out of those awful memories, but she didn't mind. She needed the constant reminder of why she was doing this, and the ache in her heart wasn't enough, she was sure. That precious ache would only make her love him more. No, she needed the poisonous whispers of the mind if she intended revenge.

...Steady...

...Breathe...

...Hold...

_**Bang.**_

_"Come with me darling."_

_"Will you marry me like you promised?"_

_That golden smile again._

_"Ye, know I will."_

...Steady...

...Breathe...

...Hold...

_**Bang.**_

_Rain. Naval uniforms. Gunfire. Swords._

_"Stop!"_

_"Jack, watch out!"_

_"Ugh, Thanks luv. Oops."_

_"Sparrow!"_

_"Well, time to go."_

_"But...Jack! You can't leave me here!"_

_"Time and tide love. Any port in a storm, eh?"_

_"Sparrow!"_

_"Ugh, JACK! You BASTARD!"_

_That golden smile._

_"My parents are still married luv!"_

...Steady...

...Breathe...

...Hold...

_**Bang.**_

She smiled as the last bottle shattered. With the last memory, she traced the script 'J' tattoo on her wrist. Yes, revenge will be sweet. And Jack Sparrow's death will be sweeter.


End file.
